


The One Where Miles Brown Touches Something That Isn't His [September 23, 2013]

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys/Rambling Wrecks AUs [5]
Category: Glee, Rambling Wrecks
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Sex, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Killers Week AU spinning off from "Blind Item"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: This story contains character death and other disturbing material**! Please read the [expanded warnings](http://storyof3boys.livejournal.com/102889.html) for Killers Week.
> 
> Not a new work. We're migrating the AUs away from the SOTB series and into their own, so we can get the odd tags and pairings off the SOTB series tags!

Hudson stepping in for Wisconsin’s starting quarterback partway into the season changes everything for Miles Brown. Suddenly, Lima’s really on UW’s radar, there’s a recruiter coming to games, and before the new year rolls around, Miles knows he’s heading to Wisconsin, not Clemson or Connecticut or anywhere else. It’s confirmed in January and come National Signing Day on February 6th, Miles is in front of a camera putting on a Badgers hat. 

Casey’s all excited for him and tells him, “Oh! That’s great! You’ll have someone at school you already know!” and while Miles doesn’t really expect to be hanging out with Hudson or anything—it’s football, there’s politics, and the likely-starting quarterback probably isn’t spending a lot of time chit-chatting with a redshirted freshman—it _is_ kind of nice to know there’s at least one other soul on that campus who knows where Miles comes from.

Hudson seems a little surprised to see Miles at Camp Randall that summer, but he’s cool about it. He fistbumps Miles like a long lost friend and even takes the time to introduce him around to everyone. When Miles starts going to the QSA meetings, though, Hudson gives him a different kind of look, one that seems to say ‘I won’t ask any questions if you won’t’. There’s not a lot of direct interaction at the QSA—Hudson’s got his passel of lesbian cheerleaders and Miles is busy trying to figure out how to make a new friend without it becoming too much public knowledge—but it’s civil. There’s almost a sense of camaraderie, Miles thinks.

Then September 23rd rolls around and things get a little weird. He can’t precisely put his finger on what, because as a freshman, he’s not really a part of the Badger rumor mill, but he knows something’s up by the hushed tones in the weight room. Miles hears about the impromptu bash at Pike house in the middle of the afternoon. Miles can’t say he’s a _huge_ fan of the Greek system, but he is a huge fan of parties. It’s his short day for classes, he’s already done for the day excepting practice later, so why not swing by and see what he finds?

What he finds is Hudson, drunk as a skunk and only getting drunker, doing body shots off some cheerleader who looks like she can’t wait to get her claws in him and drag him back to her den. Being the humanitarian he is, Miles can’t let such a thing happen to his teammate; drunk sex with some cheerleader seems like a dicey damn prospect, the way that Miles sees it, and could really put Hudson in a precarious situation later on. 

So Miles catches Hudson by the arm and gives him a tug. “Better slow it down, Hudson,” Miles tells him mildly, and Hudson peers at him like he’s not quite sure who it is that’s got him by the arm. “Why don’t you come on with me and we’ll walk it off?”

“Brown?” Hudson says. 

“That’s right,” Miles says. “It’s Miles Brown, and we’re gonna take a little walk before you do something that’s gonna land you in the papers or a clinic, alright?” He gives Hudson’s arm another tug. “Come on, now. You follow me. We’ll get some food in you or something.”

Hudson takes a staggering step in Miles’ direction. “Ok. Ok, yeah. We can go,” he slurs. “Let’s go. That’s awesome.”

“Uh-huh,” Miles mutters under his breath, and he’s draping Hudson’s arm across his shoulders to help him stay on his feet. “This is awesome, alright. Dragging your drunk ass across campus, that’s awesome.”

“You’re awesome, Brown,” Hudson says, as Miles is hauling him down the sidewalk. “You understand. ‘S not like LSU. You don’t even care about what the internet says.”

“That’s right, Hudson. I don’t care about that,” Miles says, though he’s honestly not sure what it is he’s agreeing to. “I’m just gonna take you to your dorm, alright? I’ll get one of your roomies to come look after you.”

“No!” Hudson says, a little too loudly. “Not my dorm. Don’t wanna go to my dorm. Everybody’s gonna be watching.” He tries to extricate himself from Miles, but starts to stumble, and just ends up holding onto Miles even tighter.

“Alright, alright,” Miles says, “but I can’t just drop you off at the student center like this, Hudson. You’ll get yourself booted off the team.” He sighs and repositions Hudson’s arm across his shoulders when Hudson grips him a little too tight. “Fine, I’ll bring you back to my place until you sober up, how’s that?”

Hudson grins down at him dopily. “Thanks, Brown. You’re awesome.”

“So we’ve established,” Miles says wryly. He leads Hudson back to the dorm and into the elevator, where Hudson sort of paws at Miles’ chest. “You getting friendly, Hudson?”

Hudson keeps on grinning, and Miles shakes his head, leading Hudson out of the elevator and the rest of the way to Miles’ dorm room. Once they’re inside, Miles sort of leans Hudson against a wall. “I’m going to fix you a drink of water,” he tells Hudson, while he’s in the process of doing just that, pouring water from a Brita pitcher into a glass. When he turns around, though, Hudson’s right behind him, swaying a little bit, but not looking like he’s in danger of falling over or anything. “Well, damn, you’re like a great big ol’ ninja, aren’t you?”

Of all the responses Miles is expecting, Hudson grabbing him and kissing him isn’t high on the list, or even on the list at all. That’s what happens, though, and Miles can taste the tequila on Hudson’s tongue. When Hudson comes up for air, Miles pulls away.

“Now, I’m not so sure this is a great idea,” Miles says. It’s not entirely true. Parts of him think it’s a fantastic idea, but his brain is still running the show enough to identify the many, many flaws in this scenario.

“It’s a great idea,” Hudson insists, yanking Miles close again. After a little more kissing, Hudson starts fiddling with the button on the front of Miles’ jeans, and Miles pulls away again.

“Bad idea, Hudson,” Miles says, though less and less of him agrees with him that it’s a bad idea. He still hasn’t figured out how to make a new friend from the QSA without someone making the football connection, and while he’s taken a girl out here or there, it’s been a _long_ dry spell for this. “You’re gonna regret it later and I don’t really wanna be the reason for the quarterback’s big gay panic.”

Hudson makes this strangled snorting laugh. “You think I haven’t fucked a guy before?”

First, one of Miles’ eyebrows goes up, then the other one joins it, and he’s pretty sure his mouth drops open, too. “Well, damn, Hudson,” Miles says. “Alright, then. You sure you’re sober enough to make this call?”

“You talk a lot,” Hudson grumbles. He makes like he’s going after Miles’ fly again, and Miles interrupts him.

“We’ll take it out of the common room and into my room,” Miles says. “I’m thinking you’re not any more out than I am, right?”

Hudson lets out another strangled laugh, but he follows Miles back into his room. Miles barely has the door shut before Hudson’s pressing him back against it. “Everything is so fucked up,” Hudson mutters, as he’s unfastening the front of Miles’ jeans. “I fucked everything up so bad. It’s all gonna get out there, everybody’s gonna know, they’re gonna hate me for it.”

“Got no idea what you’re talking about, Hudson,” Miles says merrily. “But you just keep on talking if you need to.” 

Hudson gets Miles’ jeans and underwear down his hips and around his knees, and he’s working on the front of his own jeans before he pauses and frowns. 

“You alright?” Miles asks him, and Hudson nods. “Lube and condoms’re over there in the top drawer, so help yourself.” Hudson crosses the dresser, retrieves the lube and a condom, and before another half a minute passes, Miles finds himself flipped around and pressed chest-first against his dorm room wall. “Well, don’t waste any time, I guess.”

Hudson doesn’t waste time, either. There’s barely a pause, just a quick crinkle of a foil wrapper and the plastic click of a bottle lid, then Hudson’s pushing inside him, fast and sudden. “Shit,” Miles breathes out. “Slow it down a little!” 

Hudson doesn’t really slow it down at all, but his still-slick hand wraps around Miles’ dick, and he jerks Miles off roughly while he fucks him hard against the wall. It’s been so long, and Miles doesn’t mind a little bit of rough, so it’s not too long before Miles is coming on Hudson’s hand and the wall. Miles braces himself against the wall as Hudson keeps fucking him for another few minutes before shuddering behind him.

Miles keeps leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, and Hudson slowly pulls away from him. “You okay back there, Hudson?” Miles asks.

“I think I need to lie down,” Hudson mumbles, and then there’s a very loud thunk and Hudson sort of crumples onto Miles’ bed, not passed out or anything, but looking awfully green. 

“Shit,” Miles says to himself. He pulls up his underwear and his jeans, then uses a wad of tissues to give his wall a cursory wipe-down. “Alright, Hudson. Who do I need to call?”

“Don’t tell Kurt,” Hudson mumbles, as he’s curling up into a fetal-looking ball on Miles’ bed.

“Now, why— You know what? Not asking. I’m calling that girlfriend of yours, the scary little lesbian. What’s her name?”

“Syd?” Hudson asks. “Don’t call Syd.”

Miles pats Hudson’s back pocket until he finds his phone, then waits for it to turn back on. He holds it up in front of Hudson’s face. “Put in your code,” Miles orders him, and Hudson does it without argument. Miles scrolls through the contacts until he finds the listing for Syd. 

Syd answer the phone with “Where are you?” 

“He’s curled up in a ball of death of my bed,” Miles says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, other than the bottle of tequila he drank, but I think somebody needs to come get him.”

“Who is this?”

“I’m the guy he just fucked,” Miles says pointedly. “So how about you come and fetch him before he does something even stupider?”

Miles hears Syd sigh loudly on the other end of the line. “Oh,” she says, in a frustrated voice, “this is _perfect_.”

 

The next day, Miles finally gets caught up on the gossip flying around, and everything Hudson was mumbling about makes a lot more sense. Miles doesn’t really care that much about the rumors, which sound more like they’re about Karofsky down in Atlanta or some ol’ Mormon boy out at Utah, anyway, and he doesn’t really give the mess any more thought. When he sees Hudson at practice, he just gives him a polite nod of the head and goes about his business, and that, as far as Miles is concerned, is the end of that.

Miles goes about his business for the rest of the week, and then, since it’s not like he’ll be playing in the game on Saturday, being red-shirted and all, he decides that Friday night is a great night to go to the party over at Fiji. They’re a bunch of dicks, but they mix their drinks strong. Unlike some people, Miles knows how to pace himself, but come midnight, he’s pleasantly intoxicated. 

It doesn’t make a lick of sense when he sees Kurt Hummel and Puckerman in the middle of the Fiji party, and it makes even less sense when they each grab him by a wrist and pull him in the direction of a back room. Miles can say with all certainty that Kurt and Puckerman are the two _last_ people who’d pull him into a private spot for anything untoward. 

“Kurt Hummel. Puckerman,” Miles says, after Puckerman closes the door behind them. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”

“Drink this,” Kurt replies instead, brandishing a bottle of vodka in Miles’ direction.

“No thanks, I’m cool,” Miles says, putting up his hands and making no move to take the vodka.

“Trust me,” Puckerman says, “You want to do what he says. You pissed him off pretty bad, Brown. Me too, come to think of it.”

“What?” Miles asks, incredulous. “I didn’t do anything to you. I haven’t even seen either you in, what? Year and a half, almost?

“Monday afternoon,” Kurt says coldly. “You played with things that aren’t yours to play with.”

“I don’t— _what_ are you talking about?” Miles demands. “Look, I know I’m not your favorite guy in the world, but I didn’t do anything, unless... wait. Are you talking about Hudson?”

“He was _drunk_ ,” Kurt hisses. “Drunk in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday, and you didn’t think that was a little odd? A sign that he wasn’t thinking properly?”

“You knew to call Syd afterwards,” Puckerman says flatly. “You could have called her before. You could have called us. You had options.” He shrugs and suddenly grins. “You chose incorrectly.”

“Hey, now! He came on to _me_. He was sober enough to fuck _me_ ,” Miles says. “I don’t spend a lot of my time thinking about his daily life and choices, so how should I know drunk on a Monday’s not a _thing_ with him? He was putting it away like it’s a thing.”

“He’s an idiot,” Puckerman says to Kurt, stepping closer to Miles and taking the bottle of vodka from Kurt. He starts pouring it on Miles, close to his mouth but not in it, the vodka splashing down the front of Miles’ shirt. 

“Back off!” Miles says, giving Puckerman a shove. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m gonna be going now.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t,” Kurt says, and he’s standing in front of the door now, a huge syringe, like they use on horses, in his hand. “You touched something that wasn’t yours, Miles Brown, and you aren’t even apologetic about it.” He shrugs. “Finn’s _ours_ , Brown, and I never liked you anyway. Maybe if you had said sorry, things could have been different.”

“You’re crazy,” Miles says, backing away from Kurt. “You’re absolutely out of your flippin’ mind. Kurt, seriously, it was _one time_!” He puts his arms out to keep Kurt at a distance. “This is just crazy!”

“Choices have consequences, Brown,” Puckerman says. “We know you’ve never really had to deal with that, but sadly, some of us don’t let you have a practice exam.” He grabs Miles from behind, his arm around Miles’ neck, and his other arm loops around Miles’ arms. “Anything you want to tell Brown, blue eyes?”

Kurt sighs very dramatically. “No, not really.” Despite that, he stares at Miles and grins coldly. “You let the wrong person fuck you, Miles Brown. You never should have even laid a hand on Finn.”

Miles struggles. He tries to scream, but Puckerman’s forearm is pressed against his Adam’s apple, and as Kurt takes a step forward, Miles realizes there’s nothing in the syringe. Nothing but air. 

Without another word, Kurt puts in the needle into Miles’ neck, slowly depressing the plunger. 

“Good-bye, Brown,” Puckerman whispers in his ear.

At first Miles doesn’t feel anything beyond the needle and the pressure of Puckerman’s arm against his throat, but then he feels pain, gripping, burning, whole-body pain. Puckerman releases Miles, and he falls to the ground, but he still can’t scream. 

Kurt steps over him, and there’s the unmistakable sound of Kurt and Puckerman apparently being turned on by the whole threatening and attacking Miles thing. Miles almost thinks it might be funny, dying in a room where people are fucking, but then he blacks out, so he doesn’t get a chance to think it. Not at all.


	2. The Ones Who Get Away With It

They leave as soon as there’s no heartbeat, Kurt locking the door behind them, and Noah pockets the syringe until they get back to their suitcases and he can hide it. Finn doesn’t ask where they were, and they fly back to New York on Sunday morning, after the game. They drop their luggage off at home before going back into Central Park, putting the syringe back in with the other syringes around the stables, and Kurt almost giggles. 

“Look, Noah, they’ll be picking up the biohazardous waste in the morning. It’s perfect.”

Noah shakes his head and grins a little. “Perfect as it’s going to get, anyway.”

Finn calls on Monday evening, and Kurt puts the phone on speaker as they sit on the futon. “Hello, darling.”

“You guys, something happened to Brown!” Finn says. He sounds distressed. “The police interviewed me!”

“What do you mean?” Noah asks, trying to sound surprised. “Did he get robbed or something?”

“No, you guys! He’s _dead_! They found his body at that Fiji party this weekend, and they thought it was alcohol poisoning at first but... but then they started pulling people in for questions.”

Kurt tsks. “Isn’t Fiji the one that’s full of jackasses? Why would he go there to party?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “They’re a bunch of dicks, but I dunno. Lots of alcohol. But I had to answer questions. They were asking me about, uh. About some stuff from a week ago.”

“I’m sure it’s just a formality, Finn, even if is just an unfortunate case of alcohol poisoning,” Kurt says soothingly. “I’m sure they’ll make sure to talk to all of you on the team about it, no doubt.”

“No, they asked me, like, _really specific_ questions,” Finn says. “Like... I guess someone saw me with him at Pike that time? But I mean, I was in the strategy meeting on Friday night, so everybody knows where I was.” 

“Maybe they’re just establishing that _Brown_ drinks,” Noah points out. If the cops are still going with alcohol poisoning, they’re in very good shape. 

“They kept asking me if he had any enemies, if the two of us had ever fought, but I told them, I mean, everybody likes Brown. The whole team likes him.” Finn sighs. “It’s really awful, you guys. I feel so bad. Poor Brown. I can’t believe that happened to him!”

“Sadly, a number of college students die each year from alcohol poisoning.” Kurt manages to sound like he’s actually really sad about Brown dying, instead of being the cause of it. 

“I don’t think they really think it’s that,” Finn says firmly. “ _I_ think they think it’s foul play. We might have, like, a _murderer_ on campus, guys!”

“Why would anyone want to kill Brown?” Kurt says, again sounding completely sincere, and Noah has to press his lips together.

“It’s unlikely, darling,” Noah says. “Even if someone did have a hand in his death, you know serial killers are very rare.”

“Do you think is could be somebody from Minnesota?” Finn asks. “What if they’re trying to eliminate the competition, so next year they can win the axe?”

“That’s a little far for a rivalry,” Noah says skeptically. “I think you’re probably fine.”

“Just remember what I’ve told you, Finn, and don’t leave your drink unattended. Ever.”

“Yeah, you were right, Kurt. Really bad things _can_ happen at campus parties. I’m really glad I’ve got you guys to look out for me,” Finn says. “Anything could happen!”

“Mmm. Yes,” Kurt agrees, and he exchanges a look with Noah. Noah shrugs. The Central Park syringes are off to the landfill, and they had soaked it in bleach for a little while. There’s nothing tying them to Brown’s death. 

“It’ll be fine, dude,” Noah says. “I’m sure the police will explain what happened soon.”

“I hope so,” Finn says sadly. “Poor Brown. I don’t know why anybody would want to hurt him.”

Kurt lets out a small snort, and Noah nearly starts to laugh at the expression on Kurt’s face. “No,” Kurt manages. “I don’t either.”


End file.
